


A Fruitless Endeavour

by Blistering_Typhoons



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, And slightly naive, Approaching' because I still want shrouded canopies, Awkward Flirting, Bard is Awesome, Bard is a Good King, Bard is so gay for his Woodland Elf/God of Harvest and Fertility Mans, Bard the Bowman is a Cinnamon Roll, Bard's friends are obnoxious, Between a newly crowned King and his weird queer woodland deer, Creature Thranduil, Cute custom paragraph divider, Eldritch Elf Thranduil, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, For the most part, Forest shenanigans, Fun Eldritch Sexy Times, Gratuitous italics, Gratuitous mentions of naked wood nymphs, Hurt/Comfort, I say scars, I'll fit the kiddies in somewhere along the line, If I fail in embedding the cover image, In which antlers are used in a manner most unseemly, M/M, Magic, Magical Forest, Magical Tree Stumps and all they represent, No Beta, Not Canon Compliant, Not between Thranduil & Bard, Not while he's an elk though, Poking fun at fantasy tropes I don't like, Protective Thranduil, Psuedo-Sexual Wine Drinking, Regular Flirting, Romance, Shape-Shifter Thranduil, Skinny Dipping, Smut, Tags Are Fun, That's Enough Tags, The feeling is very much reciprocated, The season will be approaching autumn and you can't stop me, This isn't that kind of fanfiction, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil is Sassy™, Thranduil turns into a majestic elk, Vaguely cockney and scottish accents as befitting a fantasy setting, Vegetable Sacrifice, Very not virgin Thranduil, Virgin Bard, Well - Freeform, burn scars, graphic depictions of gardening, hit up my tumblr and I'll show you, holy fuck, how do I embed images, i have to, i love them, on that note, shape shifting, though none making an appearance in this fic, we die like idiots, yet I find myself strangely endeared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24844999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blistering_Typhoons/pseuds/Blistering_Typhoons
Summary: There is truth in legends. It might not be the whole truth, granted, but it's not complete lies.Of course, for Bard Bowman- soon to be Ruler of Dale, the whole truth would have been rather nice..☽°.•◍◦.°☾.Desperate to prove to the girl he adores that he's man enough to not only gain her love, but rule over a newly reclaimed Dale as well, Bard takes it upon himself to investigate if the rumours surrounding the forest on the outskirts of Dale, Greenwood, are true. Mostly the bit about sleeping with nubile and shapely wood maidens/nymphs/sprite/things.Not that he's particularly happy about it, but things rather quickly and spectacularly derail once Bard learns what truly occupies the dark of Greenwood.
Relationships: (not for long though) - Relationship, Bard the Bowman/Original Female Character(s), Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Thranduil/wine
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've wanted to write a Barduil fic for ages now and in the fever dream that was last night I was struck bodily with the idea for this fic. I've been drawing a lot of vegetables, so no wonder I had Harvest and Agriculture things on the brain!
> 
> So now I present to you Elk Shifter Eldritch Forest Elf!Thranduil and a newly crowned Bard, King of Dale.
> 
> While this is set vaguely in a sort of Middle Earthy place, it is certainly _not_ middle Middle Earth. I've decided to put little to no thought and detail into the geography and culture, because I do not possess that talent- so have a generic fantasy setting with shifters and stuff, I guess.
> 
> I really haven't given it all that much thought xD
> 
> But I still hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoy writing it and stay with me for some shenanigans my dudes.
> 
> (I know this is horribly presumptious, and this is 2020, but podfics welcome if anybody should feel the inclination :D)

The forest here is quiet and eerie, every crunchy footstep echoing loudly amongst the trees. Pale sunlight streams through the thick canopies, puddles of light forming where the leaves allow a glimpse of the morning sky. Moss envelops bark and drips off fungi, some yellow in discoloration.

Bard winces as he snaps a twig for what must be the fifth time now, straining to hear where he swears he just heard a rustling. He grimaces at the still present silence, gripping the beige basket closer to his chest.

A large and steadily growing part of him is very regretful of his coming here, as even in the relative peace and beauty of the woods he can't shake the feeling of being observed- like the leaves themselves are watching him with amusement.

If that were the case, Bard wouldn't blame them.

Twenty-three years old, soon to be King of Dale and glorious saviour of the people Bard Bowman; clutching a woven basket to his chest and startled by every minute noise he makes and hears. The reason he's even here isn't much better, though to be fair, it's not entirely his fault.

He stills again (he's making very slow progress at this point), though this time in existential confusion at his actions. The forest is still quiet around him, but he can hear the distant sounds of birds chattering. Breathing in the warm smell of Earth and bark, he casts his mind back once more to where it all started.

.☽°.•◍◦.°☾.

_His heart hammered in his throat. Eru, just seeing her was enough to make him feel light again. He's aware he must have the most ridiculous smile on his face right now, but he can't bring himself to care all that much- his people were free, he's been reinstated as the Crown and the love of his life just walked into the tavern he'd been spending most of the evening with his friends, drinking and laughing. Three months had passed since he last saw her- three months ago he was hardly even thinking he'd ever reach the status he had now._

_''Miriel!'', he cried out, ignoring the ribbing of his drinking companions._

_She turned to him, brown mane of hair blowing out gloriously with the movement; hazel eyes locked onto his own dark brown. To his consternation, however, a smile did not touch her elegant features. Instead, something akin to sadness stole across her radiant face._

_He shook off his concern though when she made her way over, dark brown cape trailing gently on the wood floor. Grinning once more, he rises from his seat to meet her- stomach fluttering lightly._

_''Mirie-'', he goes to repeat, only to be stopped by her raised palm._

_''Can we talk?,'' she spoke, voice melodious,  
casting a wary look at the table of leering men. ''Outside?''_

_Bard's smile fell for the third time, but he nodded anyways; gently setting down his tankard and urging the men to wait for him. He followed her outside, the little bit of alcohol leaving his system as soon as the frigid air hit his skin- leaving him shivering and most inconveniently with the urge to pee._

_He opened his mouth to speak, to ask if everything was alright, when she hushed him once more._

_''Bard, it's lovely to see you again- really, I have missed your company. You are different from any other man I've met in my life.''_

_Bard simply nodded; while he was pleased by her praise, he hadn't imagined their reunion to play out this way at all. He'd always imagined a marked more amount of kissing and tender declarations of love, perhaps in the rain. He wasn't expecting her to be so cautious and aloof around him, conversations between them had always flown easily._

_''But truth be told, I don't know if I can do it.'', she said, face scrunched in consternation._

_Bard blinked._

_''D-Do what, Mir?'', he pried gently, laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder._

_That was clearly not the correct thing to do._

_She twisted away from his touch, a pained noise escaping her throat. Bard gaped in bewilderment as she whirled back to face him, tears streaking her cheeks._

_''That! Reciprocate your feelings! Don't deny them, Bard, I know you harbour them for me! I used to as well, shit, I still do- but then all this happened! You becoming King and saving Dale, and I know you! You aren't strong enough to handle that, you're emotional and giving. You'll become swept up in this sea of politics, power and whores!'', she cried, spitting out the last few words. ''You might think you have what it takes, but you don't! You don't even notice when the barmaids flirt with you, so HOW will you pick up on what could be a declaration of war? What's more, there's no place for me in this! I either devote myself to becoming your Queen forever, running the city while you have your pick of women every night OR I marry you and you throw yourself into this cesspool and neglect me every day and night!''_

_Her chest was heaving by the time she'd bitten out the last words, eyes ablaze with righteous emotion. Bard felt nauseous as her words swam around in his gut, plucking up all his unsaid insecurities and shoving them up to the light of day. He stared blankly at her, wondering absently how long she had been steaming in her feelings._

_Once more in his life, the overwhelming urge to fix things bubbled into his mouth and he inhaled softly-_

_''No, don't. Forget I said anything. Go enjoy your evening, Your Majesty.'', she had sniffed out, voice coated with poison and shame._

_Bard watched as she brushed past him, hurrying down the wet street. His head spun at the absolute turn in both the night and his mood. He had half a mind to catch up with her, but instead he found himself stumbling back into the tavern._

_He honestly felt like calling it a night and going home to sob in his bed for a bit, but remembering her words he bit down his sadness and plonked himself back into the chair._

_''Oh no, what happened Bowman?'', Firrin chuckled, clapping him on the back._

_''I...I have no idea.'', he replied, because, he really didn't._

_After some prodding and another ale (which did nothing, he'd pretty much sobered up for the week), Bard relayed the events leading up to and Miriel's words._

_''Well, shit. Looks like somebody's in a mess of trouble.'', Firrin had bluntly remarked as the others whistled lowly._

_Bard tried to ignore how much the comment stung, drinking deeply from his tankard to wash away the bitterness in his chest. It didn't work._

_''Heh, well if it's yer innocence she's worried about- mebbe we ought to send ye ta the Greenwood!'', Gorfin had laughed, the older Man taking a hearty swig from his own cup as the gathering burst into merriment._

_''Oh, aye! For, uh, educational purposes!''_

_''Hm, verrah educational.''_

_''With the added benefit of wiping the harpy from your mind completely, I should say!''_

_The table dissolved into bawdy laughter, tableware clashing and clinking._

_''Erm, where and what exactly is the 'Greenwood'?'', Bard had felt the need to ask, already regretting his decision to confide emotionally in a bunch of drunken Men._

_As if rehearsed and fully expecting this question, half the gathering enthusaistically burst into screeching song:_

_''Aye, the Greenwood! Lofty, fair and lush!  
Where ye send yer boy away, to come back a man!  
(With extra luck to push!)  
Oh, the Greenwood! Where nubile maidens roam!  
(''Haven't they got nuffin' be'er to do?'')  
(''Shut up, Marvin.'')  
Ready ta teach ye ignorant bastard sons, the way of their own cock and balls!  
Come ta the Greenwood! Yer only price is a harveeeeest-!  
Of veg from yer ol' mam's gaaaardeeeen!''_

_Bard twitched slightly, a flush blooming across his neck. Obviously, he'd heard worse, but due to the circumstances at the time he was beginning to see the benefits of celibacy._

_Clearly seeing the horror in his face, Gorfin took pity on him._

_''Jes havin' a laugh, lad! Plus, s'all a bunch of horseshite anyways. Nubile maidens, my hairy arse!''_

_''Come of it Gorf, s'true! Didn't you hear about-''_

_Bard had tuned out by then, letting their petty arguements and idle gossip wash over him as he contemplated. Miriel's words pounded in his head, every remark slicing deeper into his heart. Gazing at the window across the tavern, Bard reasoned that...it didn't hurt to investigate._

☽°.•◍◦.°☾

Bard sighs, letting his body sag slightly. He'd been losing sleep, with the whole running a City and now this entire mess. It's a wonder he'd managed to wrangle some free time out of his messy schedule.

Tilting his head up, he regards the canopy above him thoughtfully. He's not entirely sure what he's even doing, even after surreptisiously grilling various people on the legend of Greenwood. Not for the first time, the insanity of his actions wash over him- but nevertheless, he fishes out a crumpled piece of parchment from his coat pocket.

He has a small list of tasks to accomplish, these being:

• Go to the Greenwood, which was thankfully real, and only an hour outside Dale.

_(He wonders idly why he'd never really heard of it before)_

• Find a nice clearing, preferably with a thick stump where-

• -he'll set down the basket, call for the forest maiden/nymph/sprite/thing and hopefully have sex with her.

Bard chuckles at the insanity of it all, finally considering just going back home and suffering for the rest of his life- Miriel be damned. Fuck, he's considering sleeping with _somebody else_ in order to please her- there must be something flawed in that line of thinking.

And then he spots it.

A beautiful, shimmering expanse of grass; encircled perfectly by trees and dotted with small wildflowers and ferns. And in the middle- a gnarled, thick tree stump with the sunlight almost purposefully streaming onto the ringed wood.

Bard gapes softly, before darting his eyes back and forth in disbelief. He's half expecting Firrin to jump out and declare that they set him up, knowing he'd be foolish enough to follow it up.

All he's greeted with is more ambient silence.

''Well, then.'', he mutters softly, pulse quickening strangely as he makes his way over.

He runs a calloused hand over the makeshift pedestal softly, marvelling in the smoothness he finds there. Gently he brushes a few errant leaves off, body now working all by itself.

He feels bewitched.

Inhaling deeply, he positions the basket over the stump- allowing it to hover there as he scrambles for words.

''Erm, oh fair inhabitants of this Greenwood, I, er, I come bearing a gift of harvest!'', he declares awkwardly, hoping his Kingly speeches are a bit more impressive. He thinks to add. ''They, er, they aren't from my mam's garden. Sorry.''

He doesn't know why, but as soon as he makes to place it down the urge to hide overtakes him. Not leave, just hide, which he supposes is standard 'Summoning/Tricking Nymph Thing in The Woods' protocol. The basket hits the wood with a soft thud and Bard stares at it for a second, feeling tremendously foolish, before practically scrambling into the bush to wait.

He doesn't wait long, however. 

A few excruciating seconds of absolute quiet go by (did the birds dissapear or something; where is everyone?), in which he contemplates everything under the sun, namely; why?

''You know I can see you, right? I am not so easily decieved.'', a voice of pure velvet intones from somewhere next to him, laced with an undercurrent of bored amusement.

Bard doesn't shriek, but it's close cousin- a yelp, does startle out of his mouth and him back into the clearing. He scans the woods quickly, seeing nothing but the same shades of brown and green. He's never met a wood sprite, but he's sure they don't sound so...masculine.

''Where are you?'', he asks, rather faintly if he's honest.

''In the trees, inhabiting...fairly. Why are you here?''

Bard swallows, confused by the sensitivity that skitters across his skin. Perhaps it's the natural fear of a supernatural entity lurking in the shadowy abyss of the woods. He swears he can see a silhouette darting through the trees, catching glimpse of grey.

Bard blinks, eyes straining once more.

He grasps for words desperately, before the simplest just tumble out.

''I was hoping to seduce you.'', he replies flatly, regret boiling in his chest as soon as he does. ''Well, maybe not...exactly...you.''

There's deep, pregnant and very awkward pause. Bard weighing the merits of just running away now and never coming back, expensive basket be damned.

''With...a basket of vegetables.'', the voice says, and whoever it is, Bard can hear them fighting back laughter.

Bard can't help it, breathless and very nervous giggle fights it's way out of his throat. He clamps a hand to his mouth to stifle it, which results in him snorting very unacttractively and very loudly. The stress of the past four days catches up to him and he slumps against the stump tiredly; half laughing and half crying.

''I- I'm sorry, _fuck_ , are you even real? If you are- _hah_ \- I'm so sorry.'', is all he can manage to choke out, realizing only when he's stopped that he's not alone in his mirth. 

Deep chuckles emanate from the depths, not unkind laughter that seem to vibrate in Bard's chest.

''What is your name, Man of Dale?'', the voice asks, tinged with lingering warmth.

Bard hesitates, Miriel's words coming back to him.

_You're so oblivious._

_Trusting._

''Bowman.''

A melodious laugh echoes through the clearing.

''Very well, Bowman. I am called Thranduil.'', Thranduil replies, tone once more deep and distant.

Bard gasps when he finds a shadowed figure just beyond his eye's comprehension, stood in front of him. He can see that whoever Thranduil is, he's much larger than Bard's own human stature and if he strains he can see two glowing orbs - eyes.

''Why are you stood there?'', he asks, easing himself from the stump to regard Thranduil curiously.

''To preserve your sanity, I should hope.'', the being replies and Bard watches as a few errant leaves brush up from the ground by an invisible wind.

The air changes slightly, becoming more heady- charged with unnamed power.

''Why, what do you look like?'', Bard dares to ask.

And then Thranduil steps into the clearing.

Glimmering ivory skin, with fine platinum hair- silken braids interwoven with various flora looped around a regal head. Otherwordly features that almost hurt to look at, smooth jaw adorned with creeping ivy that looks almost fused to the beautiful skin there. Thick dark eyebrows contrasted against the shocking white of the robe the being wears, trailing down to touch the forest floor. Milky eyes of piercing starlight regard him gravely, elegant head tilted in calculation.

And most amazingly of all; a set of gorgeous, towering grey antlers portruding from Thranduil's skull- dripping with flowers and shimmering jewellry.

The creature before him glows and Bard's breath is stolen away from him viciously. 

''This.'', Thranduil says, marbled lips quirked in a small smile.

Leaves swirl around the hem of his robe, solitary breeze brushing around his antlers, gently moving the ornaments there.

Bard feels an odd combination of fear, awe and something approaching shame. He's all too sensitive to the same energy that Thranduil seems to exude from every inch of glowing skin.

''Feeling at all burdened with terrible knowledge?'', Thranduil asks, tone caught in bitter amused familiarity.

Bard finds his voice again.

''Not exactly.'', he replies, voice strangely breathless.

Thranduil tilts his head once more, this time in soft confusion, strong eyebrows furrowed lightly. Bard's throat goes dry as Thranduil moves forward with ethereal grace, practically gliding on the forest floor. Slender fingers take Bard's jaw in a cold grasp, tilting his head for inspection and Bard is suddenly aware of all his blemishes and the unruly scruff he keeps forgetting to shave.

''Hm...you remind me of somebody.'', Thranduil observes quietly, hand lingering coldly on Bard's warm skin, before he steps back.

Bard frowns lightly, head dizzy from the alien touch, before realization creeps into his brain.

''My- Girion? Girion of Dale?'', he asks, shivering as Thranduil paces backwards.

Thranduil nods and Bard is startled into laughter.

''But that would make you...? How old?''

''Are you insinuating I'm ancient, Bowman?'', Thranduil asks and Bard would have froze if it weren't for the playful glint in those milky depths.

He grins softly.

''But, how would I know? I came here expecting a young, curvaceous woman and instead I'm greeted by you, a...erm, well a you.'', he coughs out, grin replaced with a sheepish smile.

Thranduil snorts delicately, antlers tinkling gently with the movement.

''Well I'm sorry to disappoint, Bowman. As for what I am, I have many definitions- I believe the most common is Woodland Elf, which you are at liberty to use if it provides any comfort, though I have heard Harvest God as well.'', Thranduil replies conversationally, setting a graceful pace around the stump and Bard. ''You did well in bringing me the basket, but I'm afraid I cannot serve the needs you had set out to fulfill.''

''Harvest God, eh?'', Bard asks, turning around to follow Thranduil's leisurely walk. He's not admitting to the blush blooming across his cheeks at the teasing tone present in the Elf's voice.

''Yes, baskets such as yours are often payment for favours I can grant.'', Thranduil replies, quirking a brow at the word 'favours' with a soft smile.

''Alright, I understand- no wood nymphs for me. What kind of favours?'', he chuckles with a self deprecating smile, watching as Thranduil appears on his left again.

The Elf pauses, face pulled in elegant thought. Bard studies him, wondering how in the world people had decided to replace the magnificent being before him with something as crude and offensive as lithe, naked sprites.

_Huh, insanity indeed._

''Well, mostly wishes for fertility- both in the crops near the Greenwood and the child-bearing kind. Advice on general plant keeping and occaisonally-'' Thranduil grins, ''-a young man or two in search of a way to relieve their virginity. They never make it past the border though, which is why you interest me so.''

Bard raises his eyebrows. It really is like most of the youth in Dale to make up stories of lovely forest maidens after having not even stepped into the confines of Greenwood. There must have been a reason for that though. While large, with ample danger of getting lost, the Greenwood is hardly a terrifying forest of gruesome legend.

And more importantly, why did nobody talk of the fertility aspect? Those are things a City hinges upon, especially ones as harsh as Dale.

''That's, erm, incredibly kind of you. And I suppose I was...desperate?'', he says lamely, confused at the delight that stumbles in his chest when Thranduil laughs.

''Really? Do tell.'', Thranduil prompts, though Bard can sense the undercurrent non-negotiable command.

He finds he doesn't mind, instead inhaling deeply with a chuckle.

''Are you sure? It's rather pathetic.'', he wheezes out, skin prickling under Thranduil's unwavering gaze.

Bard's surprised when Thranduil simply shakes his head and lowers himself down and against one of the trees that circle the clearing. He still manages to be tall and regal sitting amongst the weeds, but Bard supposes Greenwood didn't feel like just weeds to the Elf.

''I'm sure it's not, please- take a seat.'', Thranduil says softly, gracefully gesturing to the grass.

Bard smiles an awkward thanks as he unceremoniously plops himself onto the ground. He's surprised to find it's dry and warm, instead of the squelching damp he had expected. He regards Thranduil with a look, but the Elf simply stares back with an unreadable smirk.

_Well._

''Alright, so it all started...''


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning(s): emotional abuse; psychological manipulation; general not good behaviour.
> 
> Chapter two is here, updates every Sunday :D

The sky has deepened into a darker blue by the time Bard has finished relaying his story. He had to stop on occaision either to check if the Elf was still with him (''I assure you, should I grow weary- you will know.'') or to just lose his words and ponder his predicament for a few seconds before being gently prodded back into speech.

''...and now I'm here.'', he finishes at long last, waving his hand around the woods vaguely- fingers loosely grasping a daisy.

Thranduil bows his head slightly and delicately claps his hands. Bard almost feels as if over the course of his tale of unfortunate events, the Elf had shrunk in height somewhat. It certainly didn't lessen Thranduil's otherwordly presence, but Bard feels at least moderately more at ease.

He inclines his head, spreading his arms to recieve Thranduil's soft applause.

''That is certainly quite a tale, and with such a disappointing end.'', Thranduil teases and Bard chuckles softly.

''I'm not sure about that. I am infinitely more comfortable with you than I probably would have been with a lithe young nymph.'', he says, recrossing his legs and settling back onto his arms to gaze up at the canopies. ''To be honest, I might have made my excuses and fled anyways.''

He brings his gaze back to Thranduil just in time to witness the Elf hastily covering up what must have been a grin with the same look of mild amusement. He frowns lightly, but it dissipates once Thranduil laughs again- obviously registering the end of Bard's sentence.

''Well, it was cruel of her to say those words to you anyways. Would you have felt any more manly should you have slept by a Daughter of the Sexual Wood?'', Thranduil asks, and while his tone is teasing, there's and undercurrent of genuine interest and what Bard would usually interpret as concern.

Bard stills slightly, regarding the daisy thoughtfully. The events of the past few days replay in his mind, key words bleeding into his consciousness.

''I don't know. Probably would have felt guilty and uncomfortable.'', he admits, surprised at his honesty.

He supposes it feels good, talking to someone. Even if it is to Thranduil, illustrious Woodland Elf of the Greenwood. About his non-existent love life.

''Well, then we're glad I showed up instead.'', Thranduil says softly, smiling at Bard.

Bard finds himself ducking his head gently with an answering grin, feeling the Elf's gaze follow him.

''Yeah, I am.'', he looks up.

Thranduil is once more regarding him with that same calculated look, though now with a smile present on his face. His dark brows are drew together slightly and Bard finds he can't quite look away. 

His eyes stray back to Thranduil's antlers, so breathtakingly regal in their place- ornaments still tinkling in the slight breeze. He's struck with the urge to run his hands all over the bone, calloused palms snagging on the texture there. He wonders how it might feel to Thranduil, if it'll just feel like senseless bone or if it's part of his skin.

''Bowman-?'', Thranduil begins.

Bells sound in the distance and Bard freezes, heart beating irregularly.

What in the... _oh_.

Yes.

Dale. King. Responsibilities. 

_Fu-_

''Shit, how late must it be now? I really have to be going, I've, uh, got lots of things to do.'', he says lamely, each chiming toll sending prickling waves of anxiety through his veins. ''Sorry for taking up so much of your time.''

He swears he can see something like sadness flicker in Thranduil's pupil-less eyes, before the Elf rises up with a small smile. And he really does rise up, probably even towering over Bard should the Man eventually stand up. Bard gapes up at Thranduil for a second (''What interesting implications.'', a voice purrs in his mind, sounding suspiciously like the being before him.), before clumsily coming to his feet as well.

''Do not apologize, I don't have much else to do anyways.'', Thranduil says, quirking a perfect eyebrow at him. ''Will you come again?''

And there it is again, the stifled sadness in the Elf's voice. Bard wonders briefly how lonely Thranduil must be, despite being surrounded by buzzing life all day. 

But then, he can't imagine flowers to be very talkative.

''I- I would like to, yeah.'', he says intelligently, not even thinking of the repurcussions of sneaking out every other day in order to visit a Forest God of the Harvest. ''Depends on my dut- schedule. Dunno if you know what that's like...?''

''I confess I do not- just the normal cycle of life and death, I'm afraid.'', Thranduil replies, gliding over to the stump once more.

Bard watches as slender, ivory fingers lift the cloth he had haphazardly draped over the basket's contents. Thranduil hums thoughtfully at the selection, absentmindedly trailing fingers over a particularly malformed carrot. The Elf's words echo in his brain and Bard feels sympathy pang in his chest.

God, he really hopes he doesn't become this lonely during his reign.

The bells chime again and Bard jumps, sending an apologetic look Thranduil's way.

''Sorry, but um...how do I get back? Greenwood is pretty huge.'', he says with a nervous laugh.

Thranduil chuckles softly, and a breeze ripples through the forest.

''The wind will guide your way, Bowman.'', Thranduil says, gently plucking the basket from the stump. ''May we meet again, and if we do-''

Bard looks at Thranduil expectantly, even as the breeze starts to tug at his hair and clothes. The air thickens with something nameless once more. Something breathless and exciting, and Bard's air stutters in his lungs when Thranduil looks at him- white, bottomless eyes almost piercing. The wind roars through the forest now, wrenching leaves from their already loosening grips on the tree branches.

Thranduil smiles lazily.

''Bring wine. Mulled, preferably.''

A laugh startles out of Bard's throat, a mix of disappointment and relief flooding his mouth. The forest stills and Bard nods with a soft sigh of dying mirth, eyes darting up at the softly rocking canopies.

''Any type?'', he asks, looking back down.

But Thranduil is already gone with the basket, melodious laughter fading into the wooded recesses of Greenwood. Bard huffs out a surprised breath, lingering in the clearing for a couple of seconds.

The now subsided breeze whispers past his ear once more, shivering over his skin. Faint words whistle through the trees.

''Turn around and follow the camellias, Bowman.''

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

Bard is breathless and panicked by the time he manages to burst into the meeting room. 

''I- _hah_ -I am so sorry!'', he cries out, stumbling into the chair, followed by a concerned maid. He waves her off gently, flushing as his trousers squelch loudly when he sits.

''And where did yeh go off ta?'', Gorfin leers, obviously seeing Bard's dishevelled, muddy clothing and viciously messy hair.

The flush intensifies at the chorus of masculine chuckles, save for one. He relaxes slightly as a slim hand is placed on his shoulder, gently pressing on the tense muscles there.

''Don't listen to him, Your Majesty. He hasn't had any fresh gossip in a while.'', Liriam chuckles, picking an errant twig from Bard's hair and regarding her husband with a playful look.

Liriam and Gorfin had been the first of Dale to join Bard's counsel, Gorfin having been good friends with Girion while the man had been alive. Bard considers them more friends than advisors, but they did succeed in keeping him grounded against-

''Can we just get on with this meeting? Seeing that our illustrious leader has finally arrived, I would like to go over a few points.''

Bard sighs, looking over at his first advisor. Dorran had been Girion's advisor in the early days of Dale, exiled after the Master's tyranny. Bard had thought to bring him back after seizing rulership back from the Tyrant of Dale, a sentiment that was echoed by both the counsel (which had been rather miniscule a few months ago) and the City.

Too bad the Man has been nothing but incredibly difficult to deal with, not to mention crochety. 

Liriam said he was probably still getting used to Bard's generosity in restoring him to his original post.

Gorfin said he was an uppity arsehole with archaic ideals and _''If he looks at our Lir one more time like he'd rather she be downstairs in the kitchen- I'll kill him.''_

Bard sighs, regarding the Man in question, before nodding. Liriam pats his shoulder gently, gliding back over to her seat next to a younger lady that Bard had recently accepted into the Counsel.

Bard can't help but reminded of Thranduil's movements- soft and elegant. Instantly banishing the thought, he casts a wary eye at Gorfin who is growling at the look Dorran had stolen towards Liriam.

This might not end well.

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

He was correct, it did not, but the sheer amount of screaming did allow the meeting to be called off early.

''Reconvene tomorrow then, eh?'', Liriam teases and Bard groans softly, gathering up his papers as she starts dragging her still shouting husband away from the hollering Dorran.

The rest of the counsel watches the scene with amusement, bading affectionate farewells as they leave in groups of two. Dorran's lackeys start mirroring Liriam's movements with Gorfin- grimacing uncomfortably.

''Indeed, I'll try my best to be on time.'', Bard answers, nodding softly at the still yelling Dorran and the councilmen as they hurry out past him- mumbling apologies. ''Hopefully he'll have cooled down by then.''

Liriam laughs, and Gorfin stills in his screaming in order to maybe hack up a very dry lung. The woman claps him on the back fondly, and Bard holds back his laughter as the older man visibly deflates.

''Sorry Bard, but when he went off on her and then about our Ange's dress...'', Gorfin trails off, mumbling darkly.

''My big, strong hero. Thank you for protecting _my_ honour.'', she teases, not unkindly. 

Gorfin chuckles, before the couple too give their goodbyes.

''And Bard!'', Liriam cries out from the hallway.

Bard hurries over to the doorway, peaking out at her with a questioning expression.

She grins.

''Don't think I'm not going to find out where you've been.'', she says as Gorfin laughs loudly, the sound echoing in the hallway.

Bard grumbles out an assent, ducking back into the now empty meeting room with a blush he's going to steadfastly ignore.

It's not like he has much to hide anyways.

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

As Bard is locking up the as of yet unfinished Council Hall, he realizes with a start that he doesn't have much else to do with himself now. Usually a meeting would last way longer than that, extended if Gorfin was in a calm mood and could add rational input. Pausing in front of the large doors, he contemplates the hours that now lay before him.

His mind immediately strays back to Thranduil. With all the excitement of being late and trying to keep away any murder in his Council, Bard hasn't had much time to think about the Elf.

He can't erase the glimpses of loneliness he had stolen from Thranduil, the quiet sorrow that seemed to be etched into what little contours were present on the Elf's face.

Pocketing the frankly ridiculous set of keys, he turns to face the cracked stone steps leading up to the hall, eyes roaming the decorative pots dotted on each individual slab. Catching a flash of dark vibrant pink, he does a double-take realizing what's planted there.

Camellias.

Grinning in bemusement, he staggers down the steps ungracefully to take a closer look. Before he can bend down and quite possibly touch them, the sound of footsteps echo behind him. He turns around on his heel softly, breath catching once he sees who it is.

''Miriel! I-''

She holds up a hand again, not unlike she did the night outside the tavern. Her hair is bunched up in a messy ponytail, secured by a purple ribbon. Her cape is absent, leaving her forearms exposed and Bard's heart thumps at the extra inch that exposes the beginning of her shoulders. The purple fabric of her dress is rich and deep, Bard wonders absently where she got it. Miriel had never been one for fancy or expensive things, something Bard had always admired about her.

He's not so sure now.

''Hello Bard. I-I know what I said was hurtful, but I just had to let my feeling be known. So much has changed, after all. Especially between us. How are you?'', she asks, voice gentle and small.

Whatever lingering hurt and anger (truthfully, there wasn't much of the latter) Bard felt under his skin, dissipates instantly at her fearful look. He hates that look, and the fact that it's aimed at him settles disgusted in his gut. With a soft noise, he quickly gathers her up in his arms, desperately wishing her to feel safe with him again.

''It's alright, I'm alright- everything is alright. I'm so sorry I disappointed you, Mir. I-I've been trying to follow your advice.'', he admits to her, revelling in the feeling of her arms loosely wrapped around him.

She's warm and soft, and his skin relaxes slightly at the memory of other times he's held her like this.

She hums for a second, before speaking into his shoulder.

''And?'', she says, voice soft and lilted with playfulness.

He huffs a small laugh, wondering at the strange sense of unease prickling under the skin at her words. Something oddly similiar to fear races to his heart, but he tamps it down with another huff.

''Erm, I dunno. Do I look manlier?'', he asks, cringing at his juvenile choice of words.

She laughs delightedly, stepping back to appraise him with mock seriousness. He grins sheepishly, acutely aware once more of the state of his clothing.

And she notices with a frown.

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

_''Miriel! Miriel, wait!'', Bard panted, struggling to catch up to his friend. The hill was steep and slippery, and he found himself gripping the grass for support multiple times, fingers digging deeply into the wet earth._

_Unfortunately, his scrawny ten-year old legs couldn't keep up with her and pretty quickly he tripped. A stone sliced through his shin and it's a rather deep cut, which means the scream he emitted was loud and shrill._

_Childish laughter echoed through the air and before long Miriel's pretty face was peeking down at him from the top of the hill. Even in his state of adrenaline soaked pain, Bard could still admire the way the golden evening sun seemed to glow around her- an angel._

_''What was that, Bard? Only girls scream like that!'', she cried out, tearing leaves in her tiny hands._

_Bard blinked against the pain with a breathless, shaky laugh that was still puncuated with a wet sob. Tears flowed unbidden from his eyes, which he supposed is good, since it's keeping him from looking at the throbbing wound on his leg._

_Distantly he could hear his parents screaming his name in concern from where they had been picnicking. He whined lowly at the blood he could feel trickling down his leg, hearing Miriel as she made her way down towards him._

_''Why are you crying? You aren't supposed to cry.'', she said casually, hazel eyes glancing at his injury disinterestedly._

_Bard winced as he tried to move his leg, opening his mouth to yell for his parents. She sighed in disgust, before plopping down next to him._

_''Bard! Bard, my lad! Is everything alright!''_

_''The men in my books would never ask their parents to come help them. In fact, they'd never scream like a girl and not come play with me.'', she noted, twirling her fingers in the grass and Bard attempted a laugh again- only for it to end in a whimper. ''They'd follow me aaaall the way up to that hill, and actually have some fun for once.'', she continued, blinking one eye shut and looking upwards at said hill. She turned to him with disappointed venom in her eyes and Bard shivered with self-loathing and fear._

_''And they would never cry.''_

_Bard immediately stopped crying, even his tears seemed to run dry. She had turned back to her leaves and Bard finally risked a look at his leg. It was deep and still bleeding an amount that wasn't normal, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand on it even if he tried._

_Was there something wrong with him? Miriel was right, he'd never seen even dad cry._

_''Bard! Oh, my dear boy! What did you do? Miriel, what happened!'', Bard's mother had exclaimed upon seeing him, his father following behind- face stoic, but kind._

_Bard looked to his friend, almost gasping when he saw the tears running down her cheeks. What happened?_

_''He fell when he tried to chase me!'', she exclaimed, leaning into his mother's comforting pat on her shoulder as his father surveyed his leg._

_''Why are you allowed to cry?'', he had blurted out._

_Luckily his parents were too concerned to actually hear him, but Miriel simply regarded him with a teary look._

_''You scared me.''_

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

''Why are you so dirty? And why are you unshaven?'', she asks, brushing off dried mud from her dress.

Bard swallows slightly, not wanting to tell her about the Greenwood. Or Thranduil. 

Not yet.

''I was slightly late to my meeting, so I had to take a few filthy detours on my way.'', he lies, the words foreign on his tongue. ''And I suppose I, uh, forgot?'

She regards him for a few seconds, before a pained sigh escapes her and she sags with her eyes closed. 

Bard's heart drops into his stomach.

''Bard, I thought you would at least try to heed my advice. I came back here to apologize, but you haven't even tried to make an effort! What sort of King are you that sprints through the city, unshaven and in your casual clothes, to attend and important Council meeting! Ugh, men!'', she exclaims, stepping away from him in frustration. 

Tears are welling in her eyes when she meets his astonished gaze again.

''You can't even take care of yourselves! Why- why do we- I have to do everything? Why do I have to keep you safe, healthy and just fucking clean! I'm not a saviour, Bard! I'm not your mother or your advisor! I'm just your friend, who- who-'', she breaks off with a sob, beautiful face crumpling into grief.

Fuck, he hates it. Hates it when she's upset, when he can't do anything. 

''Miriel...'', he says, voice hoarse with unbidden emotion and apology.

She gestures viciously for him to stay where he is, for him to shut up.

For him to-

''Just stop. Stop it, alright? Stop trying to comfort me, I'm just being a stupid, emotional woman. You have more imortant things to do anyways.'', she chokes out, hurrying down the steps with the back of her hand flushed against her trembling mouth, hurrying away from him.

Again.

He can barely feel the gentle breeze on his skin, face numb with his failure. He stands on the steps, not sure what to do or feel anymore.

He looks back at the camellias, and sighs with slight amusement.

Well, he knows what to do.

.☽°.◦◍◦.°☾.

''Oh, Your Majesty! Stopping by my humble cottage when I haven't even had time to clean- shocking, really.'', Liriam's gently teasing voice answers as she swings the door open.

Bard's startled into a laugh, both at her tone and at the insinuation that the four story building he had granted them when they joined the Council (they'd even left the red and gold decorations on the walls; some of which probably originated around some 500 years ago) was anything but disgustingly gaudy and wholly unneeded.

All three of them positively adore it.

''I've seen Gorfin's workshop- I know what to expect.'', he replies and she cackles, waving him inside.

The smell of tea wafts through the cozy atmosphere (slightly ruined by Gorfin's abhorred singing at the large, decorative harp- also being tortured by Gorfin) and Bard relaxes immediately at the familiar atmosphere, comforted by Liriam's familiar bustling around the kitchen.

''I came to tell you, erm, where I was today.''

''I gathered. Take a seat, my lad. Muffins are almost ready.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **''SHE CAN SHOW SOME SHOULDER IF SHE WANTS TA, BECAUSE SHE'S A STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN AND IT'S HER BLOODY BODY! THE FACT THAT I'M EVEN ALLOWED TO GAZE UPON THEM IS JUST A NICE BONUS!''**
> 
> _-My Sibling, filling in the gaps of Dorran and Gorfin's argument._
> 
> Feedback welcome!
> 
> Have a good day :D

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback more than welcome, as this is the millionth time I've started a multi-chaptered fic xD
> 
> Don't feel pressured though, and have a wonderful day!


End file.
